


Evanesco

by SLWalker



Series: due South Wizard!Verse [25]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, due South
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Chase might be the only muggle ever to become one of the Ten Most Wanted.  Never underestimate a Mountie.  Especially when he has a <i>vampire</i> as backup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A guy with a magic stick just tried to singe the three chest hairs I have right off, and in my haste to escape that crispy fate, I land on a vampire.

I'm still trying to figure out how, exactly, this is my life.

Ever since Turnbull left, things have gotten progressively stranger in Nipawin. Well, not Nipawin, but a little village that I can't even _see_ over by Tobin Lake. In fact, according to Laurent, I'm busy hiding behind a house. Looks like nothing but trees to me, though. But apparently, there is a group of 'deatheaters' that have taken up residence here. I'd think that was melodrama, especially with a name like that, but when bad things started happening in my town...

And not just bad things. _Weird_ things. A house that exploded, thankfully unoccupied, without any sign of fire... no gas leak, no accelerants, no scorch marks. A mass outbreak of _frogs_. Two people who claimed to start _flying_ and ended up stuck up in trees, hanging upside down. Little stuff, but according to my sources -- well, now single source -- it would get worse before it got better.

I can see the criminal trying to fling fireballs at me, anyway. See, he can see the house I'm hiding behind and therefore can't see me. But me? I can peek out from behind the tree and see _him_ , because I can't see the house. Heck if I know how that's possible, but apparently, whatever voodoo he's supposed to do to make himself invisible here isn't working right now. Or maybe he needs to go into one of the buildings. I don't know, but I know I can see him, and he can't see me.

"Okay, you distract him, and I'll see if I can't jump him."

"This is madness," Laurent says, quietly, and I guess it must be to get that kind of comment out of _him_. Even so, he obligingly stands, moving around the edge of the house that I can't see, while I move along the other side. Well, to the other tree, anyway. Huh. I guess they are in a kind of a pattern, aren't they?

This magic stuff gives me a headache. Just for the record.

Laurent keeps edging along, taking a quick peek from behind what looks like a tree trunk to me, and then he does his vanishing act and appears right behind the criminal. "Good evening. And a fine evening it is."

Even in the low light, I can still see his fangs. I'm not sure whether I'd rather roll my eyes or applaud.

The criminal whips around and shouts something, but Laurent's already vanished again in a _pop_ and black smoke, appearing behind the man again. And again, he whirls around and tries another spell. (Spells. Casting. _Wands_. Honestly, why is this my life?) And again, Laurent's gone. Me, I'm just biding my time. The criminal looks a little nervous. I guess because he's now aware that he's being played with by a _vampire_ , instead of just a hapless Mountie and equally hapless friend who stumbled into the wrong place at the right time.

Laurent reappears again, this time up in the branches of a tree. Posed casually, one leg hanging off. But I can see that all the jumping around is starting to strain him; I guess when you have to do that in rapid succession, it probably would get tiring. The guy tries again, flinging some fiery spell at him, and that's when I make my move.

I can see Guy cringe from here, even in motion.

The guy turns as he hears me break from cover, starts his cast, but he doesn't finish before I slam into him. We both go flying, and I've been tangling with bad guys long enough to make a breath-stealing hit like that and still function; even as he's trying to bring his arm around, face set in a snarl, I use a dirty trick called 'pain compliance' and dig my thumb in under his ear, kneeling on his wand arm. The thing I've loosely discovered about this particular breed of criminal is this: They'll protect their wand before anything else. The thing they have not yet discovered about me is that I'm not afraid of that wand, especially when I've got a good pressure point and know how to use it. "Drop your weapon immediately," I bark at him, and he's in the kind of pain that has his eyes tearing up.

I honestly don't like using pain compliance. I'd rather wrestle with a suspect, and take them in that way. But there are times when you can't be nice, and times when you have to maintain the right by force, and unfortunately, this guy's one of those.

"Drop it, I said!"

He's still hanging on, trying to struggle free, but he's uncoordinated and gasping. I dig my thumb in harder and he makes an awful noise, trying to call for help once, then falling silent with a desperate little gasp, tears flowing free.

His hand snaps open. I haven't taken my eyes off this guy, trusting Laurent to watch my back and warn me if trouble comes, but it doesn't surprise me when Laurent reaches down and takes the wand, his hand covered by the sleeve of his long coat. "You have an audience," Laurent says, and I finally let go of my pressure point. The criminal looks stunned. I guess I would be, too, but hey. He's in Canada, he should know better than to cause a Mountie trouble.

"Really," I answer, kind of flatly. Because I can't see them, or hear them.

It's actually pretty quick work, cuffing this one. He's _scrawny_. I'm no hulking giant, and he's smaller than me. I guess without the wand, there's not a whole lot left.

"Yes." Laurent sounds amused, now that he doesn't look worried sick, and trying to hide his worried sick behind a veneer of nonchalant.

"Wave hi for me."

Heck if he doesn't.

And that's when I hear it. Lots of pops, like fireworks going off. Instantly, I'm off the guy and reaching automatically for my .38 -- let me tell you, apparition doesn't sound like _gunshots_ , but it still sounds explosive -- and Laurent instantly becomes about fifty times scarier. I can't describe that look. It's just this _look_ that comes over him when he's facing a real fight.

...and it turns out, it's my own kind.

But not quite. Not quite.

They wear uniforms like mine. One corporal, and a bunch of constables. And all of them wielding wands. They're Mounties, all right, but that's not all they are. And honestly, from prior encounters, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to consider them Mounties at all. Turnbull was one of them, but he's the _only_ one I'd give that honor to.

Seems I've shocked them this time. I can see Laurent edging my way. I know why -- he wants to make us disappear. I'm hoping he's not too beat to do it, if it comes to that. I already know what's coming, because this isn't my first time around the block. Hopefully, they don't realize that and just try to wipe my memory again. It works for awhile, I'll give them that... usually until I start dreaming about it, and then it all comes back to me, and we're right back where we started.

I don't hear what the corporal says. But I can guess. Because I've got _vines_ climbing my body at a rapid pace and I only make it about a half-step before I'm wrapped up in greenery.

"Fine way to treat a fellow member," I comment, and really, it's mild. Because half of them are distracted by Laurent vanishing into thin air, and it doesn't do me any good to rage or scream. I've got more dignity than that. What's the worse they can do to me?

"My apologies, Corporal Chase." I don't recognize the man addressing me. But he recognizes me. And that's bad. "A very regrettable necessity."

"Really."

"Yes."

The constables look uncomfortable. Afraid. I get the feeling it's not just Laurent, though. They've got their wands up, they're watching for him, but I don't like the way they're looking at _me_ right now. Not at all. I try to get into my trousers pocket, get my pocketknife so I have half a chance of getting myself free, but the minute I try to wiggle, the vines tighten. Great. I'm gonna be taken prisoner by _landscaping_. It's a good thing Russ thinks I'm half nuts, because I'd never live this down if he didn't.

"Well, thanks for your assistance, gentlemen, but as you can see, I've got this arrest in hand." I'm buying time. For Guy, mostly. I know he won't leave me here.

The criminal I just cuffed starts laughing. And I swear, I'm not easily intimidated, but the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I'd probably kick him if I could.

The corporal mutters something and the criminal falls silent. I manage to crane my neck enough to see him; he's still laughing, but I can't hear him. Somehow, that's even creepier. I look back at the corporal. "Thanks."

The man starts looking uncomfortable behind his poker face. Just a little. But I can see it. "Of course, we will handle everything."

"Good," I answer, grinning back. "If he tries to get away under the Charter, tack a few more charges on."

The look intensifies. The constables are starting to look downright sick.

And I'm starting to realize that I'm in a whole lot more trouble than just getting my memory wiped.

"We have laws. Necessary, for the protection of muggle society as well as our own. Never more necessary than they are in these days. I've been authorised..." The corporal pauses and then straightens up, apparently digging deep so he can go ahead and do whatever it is he's about to do. "Everything will be taken care of, Corporal Chase."

He raises his wand, and I hear _Avada--_ at the exact same time as I hear Laurent reappearing; he lands on me hard enough to knock my breath out of me and--

\--and I reappear somewhere I don't recognize, trying to catch my breath, stomach turning some from the jump. And Guy is shaking, shuddering, tearing at the vines and pulling them free and looking a whole lot paler than I've ever seen him. And he's a _vampire_. That says something.

"Where are we?" I finally manage to ask.

"Montreal," Guy answers, voice strained and tight and way more... emotionally _bare_ than I'm used to hearing. Anger. No, _rage_. Fear. Desperation.

I'm too busy wondering why to goggle over the fact that we just skipped over two provinces. "Heck of a time for a vacation back home, isn't it?"

"Shut up. Shut up," Guy says, and I'd take offense to the words if not for the tone. He pulls me up, latches onto me hard enough that I squeak and he has to fight with himself to ease up.

I pat on his back. Confused.

"They..." He stops himself and makes a noise of choked rage. It's a number of harsh breaths before he tries speaking again. "They were going to kill you."

A few thoughts go through my mind. One of which I want to say but don't: _See if I sign any mutual aid agreements with those assholes._ If only in deference to the fact that Laurent sounds as rough as he does. But honestly? It doesn't surprise me that much. It should. It should tick me off as bad as it does him. But mostly, all it does is make me want to go back there, strip the flashes from their shoulders and tell them to find some other organization to infiltrate, because they sure as heck make piss-poor Mounties if they're willing to stoop to that level.

Ha! They probably think they scared me. No such luck.

"They will be after us, now," Guy says, squeezing me sporadically.

"Took 'em awhile to join that club," I comment, offhanded. "If I would have known, I'd have made a banner."

Finally, he makes a little noise something like a laugh and stops trying to squeeze the air out of me. I take a proper breath and keep patting his back.

"So, what now?"

Guy takes a deep breath himself, shaking his head. "We run."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cindy Chase starts to figure out what's happened to her husband.

I'm not surprised when I open my parents' door and find him there. Relieved, yes. Very relieved; he's been missing for three days. But not surprised. It isn't the first time he's disappeared in the past year.

"Cin, I'm so sorry," Mike says, panting and clearly having been in a rush since he got home and found my note. "I'm... I didn't... I wasn't--"

I don't know what to say. He cuts himself off, looking at me with pleading eyes, like he's waiting for me to come up with words. But I don't have them. Not anymore. I've asked, again and again, trying to understand. Mike and I, we've never been so over-engaged that we needed to know where the other was every second of the day; I've always loved that about him. He's not controlling, he's not jealous, he's not clingy. He lets me have my life. I let him have his. But this is different.

This is different.

"Where were you?" I ask, finally, and I can't... I can't keep all of the anxiety out of my tone.

Mike swallows, still looking at me wide-eyed, and then runs a hand through his hair. He has leaves in it. God. I know he's not cheating on me, but the thought crosses my mind unbidden anyway; as guilty as it makes me feel, I wish it _was_ that simple.

"I... okay, will you walk with me? Because this isn't... I mean, your parents..." he asks, then trails off.

My hand is shaking, but my nod is steady when I step out of the door and pull it closed behind me.

 

\--

 

It started with him just being late from work. Which isn't a surprise; he's a cop, that happens. But it started happening for longer and longer; he'd disappear for most of the night, then drag himself in around dawn. I thought he might be working a case, then, something big. But then he vanished for an entire day.

Russ called, wondering where he was. And that changed everything. Because when I asked Mike, he told me he was dealing with criminals. There was a major disconnect between him saying that, and Russ not knowing where Mike was; if he was on duty, his commanding officer would know.

Things went back to normal after that. He went to work at the right time, he came home at the right time, he seemed fine.

But then, a couple of weeks later, he started pacing. I could see he was wound up, but Mike couldn't tell me why. Believe me, I asked. I asked, and I still believe him even now when he'd look back at me, eyebrows drawn, and say he didn't know what had him wound up. He would pace, and then he would work late. And then the disappearing started again.

It happened like that, ever tightening circles, until I started to see the truth.

I went through all of the processes of denial. I didn't want to believe it. Not Mike. Not my Mike.

But there wasn't -- isn't -- anything else that makes sense.

 

\--

 

"This is going to sound crazy," he says, and my heart sinks even further. We're walking down the sidewalk, and Mike's jumpy; he holds my hand, but he darts glances around every few moments, and a car squealing its tires down the road had him nearly leaping from his skin. His shirt's dirty, and he needs a shower. He looks like he thinks he's going to sound, and God, maybe... "I was in Montreal less than an hour ago."

I can't honestly say anything.

It's like all of my fears coming true, all at once.

He must see it on my face. He stops and turns to face me on the sidewalk, eyebrows drawn, words rushed. "Cin, God, I know, it sounds like I've gone off my rocker, and I know Russ thinks I've cracked in the head, but... but there's... listen, not everything is what it looks like, Cin, I promise I'm not crazy, but there's a whole other world that's been hidden from us, and I've been dealing with that since I found out about it. Except the times when they made me forget."

I want to cry.

"Mike..." I start, and my voice sounds tighter than I want it to.

"There are wizards. _Wizards_ , Cin, with wands and magic and everything. About five hours ago, one of them tried to crisp me with fireballs, and then a bunch more wanted to curse me to death. I got away because of a vampire -- Guy -- and Turnbull was one of them, that's how _I_ found out, I crashed in on a call of his while he was doing his bit as an auror--"

"Mike, please--"

"--not that Turnbull was actually with this guy, he's a criminal. Or with the aurors who were trying to kill me." Mike barely pauses to breathe, rushing like it's a relief to get off of his chest. Maybe it is. "But that's why, Cin. I couldn't tell you, because they might come after you, but now that they're after me, you've got to come with me."

I finally make myself think the words. I hate them. I hate myself for them.

_Paranoid schizophrenia._

"Mike, you need help."

He stops for a moment, blinking at me. It's a look I know so well, that good-natured confusion, that it makes my heart hurt even worse.

"You need help," I say again, taking his hands again, squeezing them. "This isn't _sane_ , Mike. This isn't okay. You're a mess, you're one step away from losing your career--"

His look slides from confused to incredulous. "You think... Cin, you think I'm _crazy?_ I mean, I know it _sounds_ crazy, but--"

"I think you're sick," I say, correcting him. "I think that you're sick, and that you need help. You need to see a doctor."

"I'm not crazy," he says again, still incredulous. "Cindy, you've been married to me for _years_..."

Someone drops a trash can lid three doors down, and he leaps again, tense and immediately whipping his head in that direction. God, what the world must look and sound like to him right now, that he needs wizards and magic and vampires to explain it. I wait until he figures out what it is, then pick a leaf out of his hair -- which badly needs a washing -- before letting it fall. "You're sick," I say again, hoping it'll get through. At this rate, though, it won't be long before it's time to start considering involuntary commitment. Mike's stubborn. He's one of the most stubborn men I've ever met.

Most of the time, almost all of the time, it's for the right reasons, against the right enemies.

Just not this time.

"I'm not sick," he says, looking back at me. Pleading again. Imploring. He takes my hands again and draws me a step further. "I'm not sick, I'm not crazy, I'm not making this up. This is _real_ , and they're going to try to kill me. I don't want them to get you, too."

"They won't." I bite the inside of my lip, as I pull my hands free and back a step away from him.

He's about to answer me, when the neighbor's golden retriever comes around the corner of his house and barrels towards us.

It happens so fast; Mike has his .38 out of the holster and pointed at the dog, one microsecond from pulling the trigger. That dog has run out to greet us almost every time we've been here at my parents' house.

I'm not breathing, not even when he realizes and reholsters his gun. By the time he calms down enough to look back at me, my expression is schooled. Ready. Calm. Even with icewater flowing through every single one of my veins, freezing me from the inside out, clutching at my heart.

"Sorry," he says, avoiding eye contact.

"Let's just... let's go home and talk about this." Go home, and call someone. Go home and call Russ. Because he _is_ a danger now. To himself, and to others. "Come on, we can take my car."

Mike nods for a moment, running a hand back through his hair, then glances at me.

And stops.

And I know. And he knows.

I don't know which part is worse: the shock on his face, or the _hurt_.

"Mike," I say, and the calm cracks. Because I can't really be Nurse Chase to him, not like I need to be. No more than he can be Corporal Chase to me. I can feel my eyes stinging. But I have to try. For him, for anyone who could be hurt by him, while he falls apart.

"Cin?" he asks, and his face tightens, and I can see we're right on the same page now. "Would you?"

"No," I lie.

And I know. And he knows.

"Promise me?" he asks, voice tight.

And I don't say anything. I can't. I can't. But I turn around and I walk back towards my parents' house, and for the first time in our entire marriage and our dating before that, I expect him to reach out and grab me, stop me, hurt me in some way.

I don't look back. I just go inside to make the call.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy waits for Mike, and for the war.

I hear his car pull up the driveway, skidding on the stones near the edge of the road, before roaring up to a space just beside my head.

The door only slams once. This bodes poorly.

I am hiding in the basement of the Chase household. It seemed the best place in the very short term; it was only upon agreeing to bring him back here that I could even get him to _consider_ going into hiding. I did so with far more apprehension than I consider healthy.

The aurors will come here. As certain as a sunrise or a sunset, they will come here looking for him. I do not know what shifted, exactly, that they do not continue obliviating him; death seems a harsh sentence for a man dedicated to fighting crime as they so often claim to. Even if, between the two of us, we have managed to shorten the time before he remembers again to an very negligible amount.

I am surprised that they have not already warded his home; it was a relief to step in and smell no magic in the air here.

His wife had left him a note. He left here to go to his in-laws looking worried. It does not surprise me, having been in his mind, that he doesn't fear the aurors. Only what they could do to her.

When he comes into the house, I leave the cover of the basement. Ready, at any moment, for battle.

The look on his face hurts.

"Tell me what happens if we leave her here," he says. His voice is rough, and I can see him tremble. I do not think it's fear. If it is, it is not fear for himself.

"Most likely, nothing."

"Even if I told her?" he demands of me, stepping closer, a clear challenge. To what, I do not know. I could not -- would not -- lie to him; even if I tried, when came the time my teeth were in his neck, my mind humming harmony to his, he would still know the truth. I would not do it anyway. He prizes honesty. I have never found him to fear the truth, only the lack of a truth with which to hold onto in this chaotic world.

"Did she believe you?" I ask this already knowing the answer.

The hard line of his mouth twitches, and he just gives a shake of the head. I know him well enough to see the hurt past it.

"At worst, obliviation. More likely, they will let her continue to believe you've gone mad, as it further isolates you." A simple truth. I know what she must have seen.

The challenge fades on a breath out. I would rather have that, than the ache left behind at seeing him hurt.

"We have to go; she's calling a squad out for me, I'm sure." His voice is steady, as he moves; quick, efficient steps to the staircase and up.

I am left behind to wait for a war to follow us here, standing in his home with the scent of him and his wife; something I cannot help but feel has been stolen. There have been rare times I've wondered if I should not help him break through his obliviation. Always it is quashed because he would break it anyway; rare is a man who can do so, but then, Mike Chase is nothing if not rare. His clarity of purpose in life is beautiful; it shines in him, a simple desire to do good... to, if I may be cliche, _maintain the right_. Renfield is so like him, in that regard, that I wonder if Renfield learned it from him, or if they were simply fated to meet and work together by some universal confluence unexpected.

Even so, I look around me and I see a home, and I know that in this moment, it is falling apart.

 

Mike takes no more than some clothes, his hunting knife, ammunition and his house keys, all in a backpack that has seen many a foray into the woods. The message is clear: He means to come home again, someday.

I will do all in my power to see that he does.

His face is set, but I can see his heartache anyway, on breaths that come too short, on the tightness of his jaw. I would bite him, just to share his mind and the hurt with him, so he doesn't have to carry it alone. I know, too, that he would never allow it. Not now. Not for that purpose.

The thought of wizards deciding that his life is somehow expendable is enough to make my rage burn again inside of me, hot like a glowing coal. Good. I will need it to make it back to Montreal, to lend me strength I barely have; to take him to my sire, my coven, to safety. I have never been overly fond of most of wizarding society; their disdain, their arrogance, their blindness has hurt Myra, even Renfield, and now it is hurting Mike. There is much to be enraged over.

He looks up at his house from the front lawn, and for a moment his guard is imperfect; his bottom lip twitches, and the heartache is written all over his face. I wonder if he misses his simple life; the days before all of this, when he was just a Mountie, with no thoughts of wizards or magic or vampires or war.

The sound of vehicles reaches me before it does him; I pull him under the shade of the tree where I once dangled to hand him the seven of diamonds, what seems even for me to be so long ago. His sharp look in answer fades when the sound reaches him, too, and then he looks through the bare cover of trees to where his cruiser is coming, followed by an ambulance.

His eyes narrow in anger. In grief.

Then he looks back at me. "Let's go."

I draw him into my arms, closer than I need to; by the time they would see us, we are already gone.


End file.
